


Beneath Their Wings

by DemonicPresence



Category: Sanders Sides, Thomas Sanders, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Fluff, Gift Fic, I guess???, Mild Hurt/Comfort, RandomSlasher's Wingverse AU, Wingverse, based off of a wonderful piece of art, judgemental, link in the author's note, meeting fic, society, wings are your status symbol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-17 16:30:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14193066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemonicPresence/pseuds/DemonicPresence
Summary: Based off of the lovely artwork, seen here: https://randomslasherwingau.tumblr.com/post/172036714992/randomslasher-click-for-full-size-this-is-a ; this is my take on how Patton and Virgil met in this ‘verse





	Beneath Their Wings

The soft _whoosh-whoosh_ of wings were heard above the rooftops as Patton soared over them, the wind whistling through downy brown locks and rainbow-hued feathers alike. It was a quiet night, the stars shining bright, with sparse clouds spotting the heavens. The wind plucked at Patton’s sky-blue polo and khakis, and as he banked on a gust of air he readjusted his thick-framed glasses.

Patton sighed as he swooped around the buildings, heading into the heart of the city. Today had been another long day; he had been invited to a massive fundraising gala, asked to be one of the guests of honor due to his majestic wings. He had accepted, and upon his arrival was immediately thrust at his longtime friend, Roman Prince. The royal had smiled apologetically, offered him his arm like a gentleman, and they had chatted the evening away as they tried hard to ignore the fervent whispers and clicks of cameras, people ogling them not for who they were, but the radiant wings on their backs.

Nobody knew Patton. Not really. They didn’t know of his adoration of puppies and kittens (despite his allergies to the latter), his obsession for dad jokes and puns, how he loved baking and long flights through the sky and his family and friends---  
No. All anybody cared about were his wings. He had to admit, they were gorgeous. Massive things, feathers rippling through every color imaginable and then some. They had the strength to carry him high, high into the atmosphere where the air was light, and the wind was ice.

Where his loneliness seemed such a small thing, amidst the joy he felt as he soared.

A dark shape caught his eye, and he glanced down. _A person?_

Indeed, it was; a figure was running full pelt across the rooftops, wings out and open against the breeze, ducking and weaving around power lines, pipes, doorways. Patton followed his movement with awe; he had never seen precise maneuvering like this outside of flight. The boy leapt across gaps between buildings, wings flaring out, steadying him for what little they could do. Patton couldn’t see his wing color; he kept to the shadows, his feathers obscured by the predawn night. It was strange though: He looked to be about Patton’s age, yet his wings looked so small… Could it just be the height?

Patton’s wings flexed and stretched as he banked low, flying just above the tallest building, a few meters above the running boy. Waiting until he was running along a long stretch of roof illuminated by lights, he called out.

“Hey!”

The boy faltered, stumbled, whipping around to stare, wide-eyed and shaking slightly, as Patton banked and landed a few feet away from him. His wings flapped powerfully as his loafers touched the concrete, quivering slightly from exertion under the lamplight. The boy had stopped in the gap between two lights, leaving him shrouded in shadow still.

“W-Wha… Who are you?” the boy stammered, clearing his throat and trying to adopt a glare on his features, as best his fright would let him. Patton shook his wings out and folded them slightly behind him, grinning at the dark-clad boy in front of him.

“I’m Patton! It’s nice to meet you. What’s your name? How did you learn to run and jump like that? I’ve never seen moves like that before!” Patton rambled. He was excited, and when he was excited, there tended to be a disconnect on the stop button attached to his word flow. The other boy blinked, taken aback.

“… Virgil,” came the hesitant reply. As Patton stepped closer, Virgil saw his iridescent wings and his eyes widened. At his look, Patton’s face fell slightly.

“Beautiful, aren’t they? Everyone says so,” Patton mumbled, bitterness leaking into his tone which surprised Virgil even more.

“I mean… Yeah, they are, but why is that a bad thing? It’s not like…” he cut himself off, biting his lip nervously as Patton glanced up at him.

“Not like everyone instantly decides I’m cool and popular and amazing because my wings are _beautiful_ and _stunning_ and _“Gorgeous, so gorgeous, you simply must be paired with someone from the Royal Class!”_ As if I want to be with Roman; he’s a dear friend of mine, but nobody stops and asks me what I want, what I’m feeling, nobody tries to get to know who _I am-_ ” This time it was Patton who cut himself off before glancing down and shuffling his feet, looking sheepish, “Sorry, I… Don’t let that out all too often.”

“I… No, it’s okay. I… I get it. I mean I don’t get it but, but like… I know how you feel,” Virgil finished lamely. “My… My wings…”

Patton glanced up curiously, and Virgil swallowed before stepping into the light of the halogen bulb above them. Virgil was dressed in dark jeans, scuffed black-and-purple sneakers, and t-shirt. A hoodie of the same color scheme hid said t-shirt, the patchwork sleeves rolled up to hint at a tattoo peeking out on his arm and up the side of his neck. His black hair was shaved close on the sides and back, the wavy locks left on top dyed a rich purple and styled to be swept over the side, showing gaged ears and dark circles under his eyes – put there by makeup or poor sleep, Patton couldn’t tell (though he guessed a bit of both, given the time of day they were both awake at). And his wings…

His wings.

They were small, more suited to a fledgling than a young man Virgil’s age. Pitch black, the feathers looked downy and soft, as if he hadn’t shed his baby down. They matched the shade of his clothes perfectly, and Patton couldn’t help wandering over for a closer look. Virgil was blushing furiously at this point, his eyes locked on the ground.

“It’s a genetic thing. They never grew out like they were supposed to. Black, to boot. So… I get it, being judged before you even take a breath to say hello,” Virgil said softly. There was silence for a time, before he spoke up again. “The-The running thing, that’s… I sort of… Invented it. I like to feel the wind through my feathers, and the ducking and weaving… That became for the fun. There was a word in a fantasy novel… Parkour? Yeah, that.”

Slowly, Patton grinned at Virgil, reaching out to tap him lightly on the shoulder, “I like the wind through my feathers, too. Would you like to race for a bit?”

Virgil blinked. Contemplated. Grinned. Then nodded. He spun around and took off, running down the roof and leaping a gap to the next building. Patton let out a soft whoop and his wings flared out, beating down to lift him into the air. The two of them raced as the sky lightened, bringing the first rays of dawn to the world. Virgil was the first to laugh, his grin almost splitting his face as Patton swooped beside him. Patton joined, their peals of joy ringing out into the sky.

Time passed. The days turned to weeks, then to months as Patton and Virgil met almost every night to surf the rooftops, Virgil sprinting across the stone with Patton swooping and careening though the air alongside him. Through their time together they talked, and the strangers, both judged the second society laid eyes upon them, became dear friends, and the friends became something more. Virgil sat upon the edge of the roof, legs dangling over the edge, Patton hovering in the air in front of him. Patton leaned to place his palm against Virgil’s cheek, Virgil leaning into the touch and weaving the fingers of his other hand through Patton’s. They smiled, noses and foreheads nearly touching, basking in each other and the fact that, finally, someone had stopped to learn who they were beneath their wings.


End file.
